“Haste thee, my nymph, and bring with thee
Jest and youthful jollity,
Quips and cranks, and wanton wiles,
Nods and becks and wreathed smiles.”
—MILTON’S L’ALLEGRO.
MONDAY came—clear, bright, and warm for the season.
“As lovely a day as we could have asked for,” Annis said, and Elsie responded, “Yes, indeed! I think everybody will come, for no regrets have been sent in and there is no excuse to be found in weather or the state of the roads.”
“I don’t believe anybody is anxious for an excuse,” said Annis. “I haven’t a doubt they’re all glad you invited them.”
All their preparations being already made, the children spent nearly all the morning in out-of-door sports, making the most of the good weather, and coming in just in time to be dressed for dinner at as early an hour as any of the invited guests could be expected.
They all came; both older and younger, ladies and gentlemen, girls and boys—excepting Mr. and Mrs. Dinsmore, of Roselands, who had accepted a prior invitation.
It had been foreseen that in such case the house would be so full that Elsie and Annis would each be constrained to accept a bed-fellow, and Annis had expressed a strong preference for sharing Elsie’s room and bed, giving up hers to two of the new-comers; and so it was arranged; Carrie Howard and Lucy Carrington being installed in Annis’s room, immediately on their arrival.
They had scarcely taken possession when the Roselands’ carriage drove up and deposited Adelaide, Walter, and Enna.
“I meant to be among the first,” Adelaide said, as Rose hastened to meet her at the door with a warm, sisterly greeting, “but Enna delayed us so with her whims and tempers that I presume we are the very last.”
“Yes, you are a few minutes behind the Carringtons, who came after everybody else but you; but never mind, it’s better late than never, and you are in full time for dinner. Come let me have the pleasure of showing you to your room. I am sorry to have to ask you to take Enna in with you, but we are so full that we have no separate room to offer her.”
“There is no need of apology,” Adelaide returned good-humoredly; “and I think it is a much better plan than it would be to put her with any one else. Come, Enna, you are to go with me. Didn’t you hear?”
“Yes; but what if I don’t choose to?” the child answered, with a pout.
“In that case you can return by the way you came,” said Mr. Dinsmore, appearing on the scene. “How do you do, Adelaide?”
“Very well, thank you,” she said, moving on down the hall with him and Rose, leaving Enna to follow or not as she pleased.
Enna hung back, muttering that “she wouldn’t stay to be abused and treated like a nobody.”
“No, don’t,” said Walter teasingly, “stand on your dignity and go home. I wish you would; for I know we’ll have a great deal better time without you.”
“You hateful boy! I shan’t go one step!” she exclaimed, stamping her foot at him and rushing after Adelaide and the others.
“I say, En,” he called after her, with a grin, “you’d better be on your good behavior, or Santa Claus will pass you by.”
“Marse Walter, shall I show you to yo’ room, sah?” asked a servant who had all this time stood respectfully waiting.
“Yes, Dick; I suppose I’d better see if I’m all right for dinner.”
“Now, Enna,” Adelaide said, turning to the pouting child, as the door of their room closed upon Mr. and Mrs. Dinsmore, leaving them alone together, “you must behave yourself decently or you shall go home at once, whether you will or no.”
Enna was by no means willing to miss the fun and gifts or the feasting which she knew were in store for those who should share the hospitalities of the Oaks for the next few days, and being well aware that Adelaide was quite capable of carrying out her threat, especially if assisted by their Brother Horace, she reluctantly decided to banish her ill humor and submit quietly, if not quite pleasantly, to the arrangements that had been made for her.
Going down to the drawing-room they found the whole company of old and young gathered there; and presently dinner was announced.
It was a grand affair of many courses, and when they left the table the short winter day was drawing to a close. There was no wine upon the table, for the Dinsmores of the Oaks were strictly temperate in principle and practice, but the most fragrant and delicious coffee was served with the last course.
After that the gentlemen who did not smoke withdrew with the ladies to the drawing-room, the lads went out into the grounds to amuse themselves there until dark, and Elsie, taking the little girls to her apartments, showed them her baby house, with its family of dolls, a number of other costly toys, a cabinet of curiosities, books, and pictures. There was no lack of material for their entertainment, and tongues ran fast as they talked of what they were handling and of the Christmas gifts they had received before leaving home or expected to have sent them to-morrow.
As Elsie’s doating father was constantly adding to her store of pretty things, there were some which were new even to Enna.
She regarded them with curiosity at first, then with an envious eye; in sullen silence for a time; but at length, in a pause of the conversation, she remarked, “I don’t think it’s fair, Elsie, that you should have so much more of everything nice than anybody else has.”
“I do then!” exclaimed Carrie Howard, “because she’s so nice herself. Besides I know that with all her blessings she’s had her trials too.”
“What?” cried Enna, snappishly.
“You for one,” returned Carrie, laughing.
“Thank you, Miss Howard, but I don’t belong to her,” snapped Enna, growing very red and angry.
This sally was greeted with a general laugh, which only had the effect to increase Enna’s anger, though Elsie did not join in it.
“Don’t be vexed, Enna, they are only teasing you a little,” she said in a gentle, persuasive tone. “I wouldn’t mind it.”
“But I will! and I shan’t stay here to be insulted! I believe you just put them up to it, you hateful thing!” And the angry child marched out of the room, holding her head high, as she had seen her mother do when similarly affected.
Everybody felt relieved, and the gay, mirthful chat and light, careless laugh were resumed.
Elsie alone was slightly disturbed by Enna’s behavior. She was somewhat abstracted for a moment while considering the question whether what had occurred was of such a nature that she must report it to her father in obedience to his command; but having decided in the negative, she recovered her accustomed sweet serenity and gave her whole attention to promoting the enjoyment of her remaining guests.
“Girls,” she said presently, “wouldn’t you like to see my baby brother, and Cousin Mildred’s little Percy?”
“Oh, yes!” they all answered, Annis adding to the stranger guests, “They’re both so pretty and sweet.”
Elsie led the way to the nursery, where they found the little fellows, each in the arms of his mother, and in a state of mind and condition of dress to show off to advantage.
Elsie and Annis, to say nothing of the mothers, were very fond of both the babes, and enjoyed the exhibition quite as much as did the visitors.
Enna had betaken herself to the drawing-room, and in answer to Adelaide’s query why she had left her mates, asserted that they were all as cross and hateful as they could be.
“Ah!” returned Adelaide indifferently. “Well, I have noticed that people are very apt to get a return of the treatment they give.” And with that she resumed her chat with a lady sitting on her other side, and left Enna to amuse herself as she best could.
The child found it dull enough sitting there, or wandering about the room unnoticed, but was too proud to go back to the society of those she had left in a pet.
Herbert Carrington, Lucy’s twin brother, was the only other child in the room just then. He sat in a window overlooking that part of the grounds where the other boys were sporting, and was watching them with wistful eyes, probably feeling the lameness which prevented him from joining them a sore trial. But he was a patient sufferer and very seldom uttered a word of complaint.
Elsie, in Enna’s place, would have gone to him and tried to cheer and entertain him; but the latter only looked toward him and turned away with a face of disgust, despising the poor lad for the physical infirmity which was not his fault, but his sad misfortune.
But it began to grow dark; lamps were lighted, and the boys came in.
The children were growing eager for the opening of the doors of the room where the Christmas tree was, and indeed some of the older people were somewhat impatient to see it, and to learn the nature of the fruits it bore. All were ready to accept the invitation to do so on leaving the tea-table.
It was a fine, large tree reaching from floor to ceiling, with wide spreading branches almost bending beneath the weight of glittering ornaments, toys, candies, fruits, and many more costly things.
When there had been sufficient time for everybody to see and thoroughly appreciate its present appearance, the work of distribution began, Mr. Travilla taking down the presents, calling aloud the name on each, and Mr. and Mrs. Dinsmore and Adelaide handing them to the owners.
No one—member of the family, guest, or servant—had been forgotten or neglected. The gifts had been carefully chosen to suit the circumstances and tastes of each recipient, and seemed to afford very general satisfaction. Even Enna could for once find no cause or excuse for grumbling, having received a pair of very beautiful bracelets from Elsie; necklace, pin, and ear-rings to match from Mr. Dinsmore and Rose; besides some smaller gifts from other relatives.
Fortunately she did not know that some of Elsie’s presents—in particular a set of pink coral—necklace and bracelets—from her father, and an opal ring from Mr. Travilla, were far more costly than her own.
Annis thought she fared wonderfully well; receiving a pair of gold bracelets from Elsie, a gold chain for her neck from Mr. Dinsmore, and a gold locket enamelled with blue forget-me-nots from Mildred; also, a pearl ring from Mr. Travilla, one set with a topaz from Dr. Landreth, and a dozen beautiful handkerchiefs from Rose.
The other gifts of jewelry were a moonstone ring to Mildred, from her husband, and a sardonyx from Mr. Dinsmore to Rose.
These four happening to be grouped together with Mr. Travilla, Annis, and Elsie, Mildred said, looking down at her new ring, which her husband had just slipped upon her finger, “This is very pretty, my dear; but had you any motive for selecting this particular kind of stone? Precious stones are said to have a language as well as flowers, are they not?”
“Yes, and moonstone is said to protect from harm and danger,” returned the doctor, laughingly.
“And sardonyx?” asked Rose.
“Insures conjugal felicity,” replied her husband, with a fond look into her sweet face.
“O Mr. Travilla! what’s the language of this?—opal is it?” asked Elsie.
“Yes, my little friend, it is an opal, and is said to denote hope and to sharpen the faith and sight of the possessor.”
“Thank you!” she exclaimed heartily, gazing down at it with a pleased, happy face.
“And what is the language of pearls?” asked Annis, looking admiringly at hers.
“Purity, and they are said to give clearness to both physical and mental vision.”
“Oh, I like that!” she said, “and I think you were very, very kind to give it to me.”
Elsie had stolen close to her father’s side and slipped one hand into his.
He bent down to look smilingly into her eyes and give her a gentle kiss.
“Papa,” she said softly, “thank you very much for your lovely present.”
“Welcome, my darling, and many thanks to you for my beautiful present from you.”
It was a small but very fine painting by one of the old masters. She had given a beautiful lace set—collar and under-sleeves—to her mamma and one to Mildred.
The presents having all been distributed, the ladies and gentlemen adjourned to the drawing-room, leaving the children in possession of the parlor where the tree stood.
“Let’s play games!” cried a chorus of voices in which several boyish ones were conspicuous.
Elsie asked what they would have, suggesting a number of the quieter kind; but none of those seemed to suit; evidently the majority at least were in a romping mood.
“Hot—butter—beans,” proposed Walter; “that’s good fun and needn’t be so very noisy either.”
No dissenting voices being raised, Elsie asked, “What shall we hide?”
“Here’s a mouse made of gray canton flannel,” said Annis, taking it from where it lay at the foot of the tree. “I should think that it would do very well.”
“Yes; and as you have it in your hand, you will hide it first.”
“Yes, if nobody else wants to. Now all cover your eyes, please, and don’t look till I say, ‘Hot—butter—beans! please to come to supper.’”
The game was continued for some time with the understanding that the hiding must be done in that room; then as the good places seemed to have all been used, they took in the next room and the spacious entrance hall beyond.
At length Elsie was the finder, and it became her turn to hide the mouse. With it in her hand she stole softly into the hall and glanced around from floor to ceiling.
It was a very large and handsome apartment, the ceiling lofty, the floor of tessellated marble, the walls frescoed and adorned with two or three fine paintings and several pieces of choice statuary.
Glancing up at one of those last, occupying a niche several feet above the floor, the child thought what a good hiding-place for the mouse might be made of that niche; she could surely slip the little thing in behind the feet of the statue, where it could not be seen, and who would ever think of looking for it there?
She was not tall enough to reach up to the place while standing on the floor, but softly moved a chair near and stepped upon it.
Even then she could not reach easily, not without standing on the edge of the chair, and just as she seemed to have attained her object it slipped from under her; she caught wildly at the statue to save herself from falling, and she and it came down together with a terrible crash, upon the marble floor.